


looking over the brim

by a_wonderingmind



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: (but only a bit) - Freeform, F/M, Hats, ah well, and not knowing what personal space is, ie every conversation they ever have, perhaps a bit irreverent on my part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24651526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_wonderingmind/pseuds/a_wonderingmind
Summary: this is what resulted out of the tumblr postAny and all distance Jack and Phryne ever have during a conversation is solely determined by the brims of their hats. Or noses.a bit of fun; it rather wrote itself. I expect most writers know that feeling!Set between s2 and s3.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 144





	looking over the brim

Jack was always aware of Miss Fisher’s closeness. He was also (unhelpfully, sometimes) aware of how close they got when they were sparring, eyes blazing, looking only past the brims of their hats.

He was used to her shenanigans, by now, though. He had merely blinked when she did that fan dance in the gentlemen’s club, mind filled with how incredibly _Phryne_ the whole situation was. And distracting himself from other, unbidden thoughts that were not appropriate for the workplace.

Phryne was always aware how close she was to Jack. It was part of their game; the waltz, slow and close; but sometimes more Viennese than anything, especially when cases ran hot. It had taken on an extra dimension after Gerty’s car crash. Knowing that they wanted, needed, each other made getting up in his space all the more fun. Sometimes she thought a strong gust of wind in the right direction may just send him tumbling into her arms, all flustered apologies on the surface but promises in his eyes. She measured their proximity by the brim of his hat, and how easily she could count the darker blue flecks in his eyes. She measured her success in vexing him by how he creased his eyebrows.

Of late, she hadn't been as successful as she once was. He was getting much better at playing along, looking gently at her. She liked it though, the conversion between them both now stretching far beyond words said. His innocent and unaffected smile always belayed a Really, Miss Fisher? and the cocked eyebrow a hint of sarcasm. She no longer flirted with the end goal of bedding him (well, perhaps a little bit, in her fantasies) but because it was fun, and easy, and light, and there would always be a dry remark or a mock serious look at the end of her sentence, or he would quote some out of context but perfectly fitting Shakespeare that would leave her to shake her head and smile fondly.

She had even begun to think of him as _her_ Jack.

Now that was a thought that required further study, but not at this moment, as they both happened to be kneeling over the body of the poor assistant to Professor Wimmer, a long time friend of her late Uncle Edward. He had recently been installed as an anthropology professor at Melbourne University; and had had little time to make enemies, which is why it was exceedingly strange that they should find his assistant dead outside one of Aunt Prudence’s guest bedrooms.

Clearly Jack thought so too; she was close enough to see the cogs in his mind whirring, no doubt documenting the pinprick wound in his neck and the bruising on his hands, his eyes darting over the body and back to her face.

“You’ve noticed the bruising around the knuckles, I presume, Miss Fisher?” he commented lightly, holding said hand up for closer inspection, drawing it out from underneath the cloth.

“And the damage to his fingernails.” she replied, drawing a nod of approval, his lids dropping closed for just long enough for it to be deliberate. She was fairly sure he had been watching her lips.

“How long did you say they had been in Melbourne?”

“A few weeks. The professor took up his posting just last Monday. Aunt P had taken quite a liking to Mrs. Wimmer and their twins, so I suspect they were no strangers here,”

As if on cue, a joyful shriek emanated from the direction of the garden. Phryne looked mildly apologetic, while Jack’s eyes sparkled with amusement, the corner of his mouth losing the fight with a smile.

Phryne decided that the eyes were, especially in Jack’s case, windows to the soul.

“Well, since it’s unlikely he had many acquaintances, I may as well start with the members of the household.”

He sighed, and Phryne swore she could smell the toothpaste on his breath. He was so close she felt as if she would only need to shift her weight to the other leg, and they would be close enough to fall into each other’s arms, not to mention scandalise Aunt P. Oh, if only the edge of his hat wasn’t the only barrier.

All of a sudden, that barrier was swiftly removed. And all the remaining space between them.

Unbeknownst to them, the twins had come in from the garden, and barrelled along the corridor in complete defiance of all their mother’s entreaties, caught up in the excitement of seemingly unobserved play.

They careened round the corner and, spotting the two adults bent over what looked like a white sheet, smiled at each other mischievously.

They picked up speed again and darted past Jack, the first swiping his hat and giggling.

He barely had time to look around at the small thief when the second came shooting into him, taking one look at the now toppling pile of limbs and shouting a heartily insincere “Sorry, Sir,” after him as he ran to catch up with his brother.

Aforementioned pile of limbs landed with a bump, though thankfully not directly on top of his partner. As he took stock of the last few seconds, he became increasingly aware that he was, ahem, on top of Miss Fisher.

Jack realised he had chosen the least fortuitous moment to get up, as his unstable position had allowed him to be catapulted rather further sideways than otherwise possible, landing his face parallel to Miss Fisher’s. His weight had landed mostly on his knees, one either side of her thigh, he noted with embarrassment, and his elbow had landed just above her shoulder. This would all be highly mortifying on its own, if he didn’t have the distinct impression he hadn’t only fallen on top of her body. 

If Miss Fisher wasn’t also looking at him like the highly amused cat that had got the cream.

“My, Inspector, you seem to have got some lipstick on your face,” she smirked, reaching up to swipe at the edge of his lips. He froze, enthralled by her touch, but simultaneously going as red as the setting sun, he was sure of it. This moment would come back to haunt him in his bed, late at night when he was frustrated.  
She looked up at him with the eyes of someone who knew exactly what she was doing, but was waiting for him to acquiesce. Oh, how he wanted to, but…

But nothing. He was going to kiss her once before; they had been interrupted by Prudence once before, why should he not try again?

He shifted his weight so that he was no longer straddling her thigh (that was too far) but put his other hand over the side of her face and met his lips with hers, first gently, restrained, but as she responded he let his guard drop a bit, flicking his tongue out and running it along her bottom lip, asking for entry.

Entry granted, he dove in, before drawing back just enough to be able to lead Miss Fisher - Phryne - into a sitting position, half her body pressing against his. He snaked an arm around the curve of her waist, and she arched against his touch, wrapping an arm around his neck. He could feel her breast pressed against him as she let out a small whimper, vibrating against his lips and sending shockwaves down his body and to a part of his anatomy he had been stubbornly trying to ignore. He was beginning to feel a tent forming in his underwear, straining against his suit, and the hand he now noticed resting on the inside of his thigh was not helping. 

It took all of his self-control to pull back, and even then he only made it so far as pressing his forehead against hers, panting slightly.

“As much as I am enjoying this,” he started; she grinned cheekily, and he returned a half smile, “I want to do this properly.”

Brief confusion flashed across her features, but were quickly replaced with a genuine smile.

“Supper at mine? Tomorrow?”

His eyes darkened in anticipation, and his lips curled up into a pleased grin.

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh Jack, look, you’ve still got lipstick on you,” she joked, wiping her thumb across his mouth. It was all he could do not to stick his tongue out and lick it. There would be time for that.

He chuckled lightly, “And whose fault is that?”

She looked back at him, eyes dancing. “You kissed me back,”

“And I’m not here to apologise,” he smirked. 

They gazed at each other for a beat, before Jack became aware of the sensation in his crotch again and coughed.

“Well. I should probably go and locate my hat, considering it was so ungracefully taken from me by a pair of scamps,”

“Yes, I suppose you should,”

“We’ll need to start interviewing the house as well; if you could be so kind as to collect everyone in the drawing room, Miss Fisher,”

She pretended not to notice how Jack held his coat over his crotch as they both rose from their positions, nor how disappointed she was to return to business so quickly. That was Jack, she thought, ever the practical head. The quicker they got this done the better, she thought, then she could go home and dissipate the heat pooling low in her belly. Tomorrow had better come quickly.

It turns out, the Inspector’s hat found its way to the hat stand by the door, after Aunt Prudence had recognised it when the boys came bounding into the drawing room. She couldn’t be sure, but she also thought the Inspector was perhaps a little too ruffled for just having his hat stolen. His lips did perhaps look just a little too red, as well.


End file.
